


The Hunt

by sparxwrites



Series: peace beneath the city [8]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Cannibalistic Thoughts, Fae & Fairies, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Urban Magic Yogs, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The city hasn’t seen a true hunt in decades, maybe even centuries - so when the horns start blaring as the sun slides towards the horizon, when the fae start gathering with their weapons and their smiles, when every other magical creature in the city with half a brain goes into hiding, no one knows what to do. They barricade themselves in their homes, set up wards, board the windows and pray to whatever higher powers they put their trust in.</p><p>(In which the Garbage Court takes a step too far, and Kirin decides to... <i>correct</i> them.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: A mighty need for UMY!Strife to try redstone is currently nesting into my heart :o I can so imagine that being the tipping point for Kirin to do something drastic against the garbage court though; how dare they destroy his apprentice with their illicit goods? (Kirin Hunting the hat trio tho I would pay to read that)
> 
> Oh, _anon_ , you had me at the prospect of a Hunt.

The city hasn’t seen a true hunt in decades, maybe even centuries - so when the horns start blaring as the sun slides towards the horizon, when the fae start gathering with their weapons and their smiles, when every other magical creature in the city with half a brain goes into hiding, no one knows what to do. They barricade themselves in their homes, set up wards, board the windows and pray to whatever higher powers they put their trust in.

The fae assemble in the largest road in the city, in their droves, shedding their modern clothes and pretty mortal masks to show what lies underneath, to don their armour and robes and clothes of old. Their weapons are anything  _but_  old fashioned, though, modern bows and crossbows and handguns and rifles amonst the swords and spears and tridents.

At the head of the growing crowd, the Sidhe Lord, Kirin himself - sat astride a stag of metal and crushed glass and the fire in the heart of car engines and the neon glow of the street lamps. It breathes smoke into the sky, rumbles like a motorbike, lowers stained-glass horns and paws the tarmac impatiently with hooves made of discarded razor blades.

The hunt starts when Kirin raises his sword towards the sky - one hand on street-sign neck of his stag and the other holding a blade that seems to suck the light around it in upwards to the stars. “No mercy!” he roars, hears the power of the cry echoed from his court behind him, the horns so deep and loud he feels the vibration in his bones as the stag plunges forward with the roar of an engine and neon flames in its eyes. The Hunt has begun.

Briefly, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s being too cruel. Too hasty. After all, the court haven’t had a Hunt in such a long time. They’ve modernised, become more reasonable, perhaps his anger is getting the better of him…

And then he remembers Will, sprawled shaking and insensate on his shop floor, irises red with the broken blood vessels of someone so high on redstone they’re dead to the world. Remembers Will, mind forced open for all the city to floor into and unable to close himself off, put up his barriers. Remembers Will, blood dripping from his nose and begging,  _begging_  for Kirin to make it stop as his blood turned to lava and his magic ate him alive from the inside out.

He tightens his grip on his sword, urges his stag faster, and grins a grin that’s little more than a baring of teeth. He may not be the oldest of the fae, but he is still more than old enough to remember the time before cities, before the modernising of the sidhe court, before the fae hid their claws. Still old enough to remember when Hunts happened every full moon and the fae took as they pleased and the humans still, rightfully, lived in fear of them.

Still old enough to remember the taste of fresh, living meat.

_No mercy._


End file.
